


Make Love To Me

by TouchOfColor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Demon Dean Winchester, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, trench coat strip tease, yeah you heard me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23356645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TouchOfColor/pseuds/TouchOfColor
Summary: Dean has disappeared, leaving Sam in ruins and Castiel burning his stolen grace too fast. As they search for leads on Sam's brother, they spend more time more intimately than they ever have before.
Relationships: Castiel & Sam Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	Make Love To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Shameless Sam/Cas nonsense while Dean is off howling at Crowley's moon.

Often, they wouldn’t see each other for days at a time. And, that was mostly fine with both of them. Sam was grieving harder than Cas had ever seen him grieve before, and Cas himself was badly sick. And besides, Sam was just sad when he was drunk.  


But, when they did see each other, they were surprisingly good. They both knew Cas had weeks, at most, and neither of them really believed that they could, or ought to, steal another grace in exchange for his life. Sam was slowly preparing to feel the pain of loss again, sure, but he wanted to give Castiel a good end. A happy end, with dignity, even- not drowning in blood or booze. And, not regretting every look stolen at your lover. Sam had been there, and it was ugly.  


He kept himself slow and soft with Cas, as he always did. Sometimes the angel would appear with leads on Dean. Sometimes with books and movies. Sometimes he’d come coughing, and he wouldn’t be able to stop, and Sam would just hold him for hours. Once, for more than a day. It felt good. And Sam didn’t truly feel like he had something better to do.  


And then, once or twice every two weeks, Cas would show up to the bunker feeling human. Sometimes crying, sometimes red with anger. More frequently, laughing in gladness or passion. Those times always ended the same.  


Cas took Sam gently by the arm. Sam let himself be led, gave himself over completely to Castiel. He wasn’t supposed to trust like that. He knew Dean would take one look at this and hate it, and say something like, “Sammy, it doesn’t matter if he’s our friend. Angels are dicks. Don’t let your guard down.” But, Sam had started this whole thing with Castiel because he didn’t want to scare the angel out of trust. He couldn’t be hypocritical now. Even if he’d wanted to, which he didn’t, he just couldn’t be.  


Cas led him into his own bedroom as though Sam might have forgotten the way, his touch pleasantly moderate. It was not in the slightest overwhelming or controlling. Sam was more willing than he’d ever been. When they got within the door, Castiel kissed him then, as though there were people outside in the hallway they needed to hide themselves from. Sam felt himself get needy, but he pushed it down. He had vowed a very long time ago never to hurt Castiel, not for good, and not for fun- not at all.  


Cas wasn’t helping Sam be any less pushy. He kissed back enthusiastically. There was no dishonesty in Castiel’s kisses. They were full and comfortable and easy; as though he had never been hurt by a kiss, as though it didn’t even occur to him to be wary. Sam remembered, without intentional fear but with an inevitable gut reaction that Castiel had a weapon on his person. He let his hands explore, and worked the blade out of Castiel’s coat gradually. They had rules. Sam was not upset, but he didn’t stop following those rules. He parted from Cas briefly, opening the door, and laying the angel blade on the floor outside. He shut the door again, and turned.  


The smell, then, was cloying. It was almost as though Cas wore perfume; Sam knew he didn’t and had no interest in doing so. It was the angel in the room. There was no good way to describe the scent, aside from perhaps words like “sweet” and “eager” and “pearl,” bright, short words that evoked a certain feeling in Sam’s stomach. He trampled that heat as well as he could. Castiel continued to do him no favors there, accepting him immediately back into his warm embrace. Their lips met again, briefly, and then Cas pulled back to nuzzle his face against the side of Sam’s neck. He walked Sam backwards, and Sam yielded as much as he could. He gave so hard he thought he might fall. He wanted Castiel to know, to understand, that he owned every part of Sam. Every rule he’d ever been taught, every moral code he’d followed, everything he’d ever understood paled in comparison to those delicate touches the angel gave to him.  


Cas pressed his face up against Sam’s throat, and then kissed him there. Those kisses, again. So pleased. So trusting. Sam gasped as he felt Castiel’s teeth against him, but didn’t resist. He could hear Dean again, or maybe his father, whispering, “He could tear your throat out. He could kill you in one blow, and it would be on you because you asked for it.” Sam ignored those voices. That was why he and Cas left their militarism and their guns and their swords outside. They had agreed from the start that their bodies were not to be weapons.  


Castiel pressed Sam down onto the bed, meeting no resistance in the movement. Sam was trapped beneath him, between the angel’s strong, deliberate hands where they held his body upright. Above him was a mesmerizing view: blue eyes glittering in the half-light of the bedroom, eyebrows slightly quirked as he studied his lover. His dark hair was mussed from where Sam’s hands had run gleefully through it. His smile, though, that was the best. A really, properly happy smile. In each other they had forgotten, only for a brief moment, to be miserable. Sam wasn’t ready to remember now. He put his hands on Castiel’s face and took in the view. He memorized every joyous curve and wrinkle and point in its form. Then, right as he was about to pull Cas down, Cas pulled back and stood up.  


He moved to the edge of the room, to the desk, and rolled his shoulders back elegantly, almost inviting that handsome trench coat off. It went like Sam did; not even planning refuse. Cas let the coat slide down his arms and pool at his feet. Sam, still sitting on the bed, imitating calm, could feel his face burning. He hardly even knew why; maybe everything Castiel did was stunning, or maybe he was just stunned by Castiel. Cas bent perfectly to retrieve the coat, his slender form looking almost breakable as he straightened again at the waist and placed it on the chair. Cas set to unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, and it was there, with that stupid, trivial movement, that Sam knew he was being teased.  


“Cas,” he sighed, trying to make it sound less like a whimper, less like a plea. Cas glanced up, almost playing, almost feigning indifference. He didn’t move closer though, and Sam didn’t sit up. The space between them was electric.  


Then, Castiel spoke, his voice faint and tender, nearly... shy. “Make love to me,” he said. It was neither question nor command. The phrase itself was supple from his mouth to his lover’s ears.  


Sam was barely breathing. He made a fragile, obedient noise, like music, and moved to invite Cas close. The angel obliged and settled atop him again in one swift, perfectly crafted movement. He radiated heat.  


Sam swallowed as Castiel caressed his face with the back of a hand. So peaceful. So unhurried. Sam felt like he was burning. “I love you,” he whispered fiercely, trying to put the fire in his stomach into his words. “I love you, Castiel.” He breathed in that lovely smell, and looked into his kindly face. “ I love you. ”  


“I love you, Sam Winchester,” Castiel’s voice returned. “I love you.” A repetition of Sam’s own words, the emotion in them, clear: perfect understanding. And then, everything they’d done slow became fast. Sam drowned himself the right way, the only way he had, not in shame or in hiding or in lies. In love.  


Sam and Cas didn’t have long. If they were unlucky, they might only have a few more days with each other. And Dean? Dean might be gone forever. It burned. It all burned, and stung, and cut. But they were not yet so badly damaged. Their bodies were not weapons. Their minds were not death sentences, their hearts, not curses. For only a few hours among so, so many, they spent their time together. No fighting, no hatred or misunderstandings or greed. Just together.  


“Make love to me,” Castiel had said, his voice like tangible compassion.  


So, Sam did.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
